Chapter Twelve – Lunetta
My eyelids feel heavy, like someone’s sewn weights into them. My body is distant, floating, and my head spins softly like the world is tipping sideways. The fog in my mind feels thick and sluggish, like honey dripping slowly off a spoon.
“Nonna,” I call softly, my voice barely escaping my throat. "My head hurts..."
I wait for her comforting touch, but nothing happens. A dull panic blooms deep in my chest, and I fight to open my eyes completely. When I do, the haze fades slowly into a stark reality—one hand strapped securely to an IV stand, clear liquid dripping steadily down into my veins; the other with my rosary around it is cuffed to the familiar cold metal frame of the bed.
This is no dream.
A deep, silky voice drifts from the shadows. “Finalmente sei sveglia.” You're finally awake
I jerk in surprise, turning toward the sound, my heart leaping violently. My captor stands there, towering beside the bed. My breath catches painfully as I take him in—his features are strong and sharply defined, handsome in a terrifying way, eyes a startling steel-gray threaded with golden flecks, like lightning flashing through storm clouds. His body fills the space around him, broad shoulders encased in a dark suit.
Fear coils tight around my throat.
Memories flicker back suddenly—this man leaning close, me grabbing his hair, shoving him desperately. The other man—I bit him. My stomach lurches sickeningly at the vivid memory, the metallic taste of his blood fresh in my mouth. Dear Mother Mary, forgive me. Tears spring hotly to my eyes as guilt churns inside me.
“Ti prego, perdonami,” I sob, my voice trembling as I plead desperately, tears burning my cheeks. “I—I didn't mean to hurt you or your friend. Please, let me go back to my Nonna.”
His studies me for a long, silent moment, then takes a slow step forward, making my heart skip painfully.
“The man who died in your Nonna’s café,” he begins calmly, eyes pinning me mercilessly.
“I—I don't know him!” I blurt quickly, shaking my head so hard it aches. “Please, believe me. He just stumbled inside, bleeding. Then he died. That's all I know!”
He leans closer. I shrink back, instinctively pressing into the pillows, my chest rising and falling rapidly.
“What did he tell you?”
I hesitate a heartbeat too long. “Nothing.”
In a merciless motion, his hand clamps around my throat, forcing a strangled gasp from my mouth. His grip is strong, calloused fingers pressing against my windpipe—not fully choking, but tight enough to send cold, sharp terror racing through my veins.
His face comes closer, voice a dangerous whisper. “Don't lie to me, little girl. If you lie, not only will I kill you—but I'll make you watch as I destroy everyone you've ever loved, piece by piece. Capisci?”
My lungs strain for air as tears stream uncontrollably down my face. Trembling violently, I nod weakly beneath his punishing grip.
“Speak,” he orders quietly, easing his hold just enough to let me breathe.
“Diamonds!” I choke out, sobbing, my voice raw and broken. “He said something about diamonds, that they belonged to me. I swear, that's all he said! I don't even know what he meant, I promise!”
He releases my throat abruptly, and I cough painfully, gasping for air as I curl onto my side, shaking.
His eyes narrow dangerously, watching me like a predator assessing its prey. “What else did he say?”
“Nothing, I swear on my life,” I plead desperately. “He fell and died.”
He straightens slowly, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. His calmness terrifies me even more.
His hands move to the back of his shirt and my heart leaps.
I cry out weakly, desperate. “Wait, I need to pee.”
His eyebrows shoot upward, a brief flash of surprise crossing his face. My cheeks burn, humiliated, but the need is overwhelming, tears rolling freely.
“Please, I need to use the bathroom,” I beg, sobbing.
With an irritated sigh, he turns sharply and moves toward the door. He opens it partially and barks an order down the corridor.
“Vieni subito qui.” Come here, now.
A woman enters swiftly, keeping her gaze lowered submissively. She glances briefly at the intimidating figure beside her and waits nervously. The man steps back, allowing her to approach.
He gives her the key to my hand cuffs and then casts me a final, unreadable look before turning away. “Be quick,” he commands sharply, leaving the room and closing the door firmly behind him.
The woman carefully unlocks the cuff from my wrist. My skin feels fiery, tender beneath the cold metal as blood rushes back into my fingers. She gently steadies me, helping me sit upright, but even that small movement sends sharp pain stabbing through my head. The room tilts and sways, threatening to drag me back down into the darkness.
I groan softly, barely staying upright as nausea twists sharply in my stomach.
“Easy,” she murmurs softly, her hand firm on my arm, guiding me carefully toward a small, worn door in the corner of the room.
Each step feels heavy, my legs shaking under my own weight. The IV needle tugs painfully at the skin on the back of my hand, the tape pulling sharply as I stumble. She steadies me, guiding me forward until I’m safely inside the tiny bathroom.
“I'll wait here,” she says quietly, stepping back and shutting the door to grant me privacy.
I turn slowly toward the cracked mirror above the sink and freeze, breath caught painfully in my chest. My reflection stares back at me—a stranger with bloodied lips, swollen and bruised, her cheek marked by red, angry fingerprints. Tears burn my eyes, tracing slow paths down my dirt-stained cheeks. My blouse is torn, stained dark red, a frightening reminder of the violence I suffered.
I quickly look away, shame pressing heavily against my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Turning carefully toward the toilet, I sit slowly, biting down on my lip to stifle a sharp cry of pain as I lower myself. My heart pounds unevenly, adrenaline sharpening my senses as my eyes fall to the needle still lodged in my vein. I exhale shakily, focusing, remembering those quiet afternoons volunteering with Bea at the church hospital.
I know what to do
Taking a deep breath, I gently peel the tape away. A hiss of pain escapes me as the adhesive pulls at the sensitive skin. Carefully gripping the thin plastic hub of the IV catheter, I slide the needle free. Blood wells slightly at the site, and I quickly press the fabric of my sleeve against it, stemming the flow.
I feel the cross of my rosary as my eyes dart around, looking for a weapon—anything. They settle on the heavy ceramic lid of the toilet tank, solid and thick. I lift it carefully, muscles straining against its unexpected weight. Holding it firmly against my chest, I whisper urgently, desperately:
“Dio, ti prego, aiutami...” Please give me strength.
I shut my eyes briefly, heart hammering wildly against my ribs. I inhale sharply, forcing courage into my voice as I call out, “I am done.”
The door opens slowly. As soon as the woman steps in, I throw the lid toward her with all my strength. She cries out, catching it, but the weight pulls her down hard onto the floor. She screams, trapped underneath it.
Quickly, I grab a bottle of bleach from under the sink and run out the door. My heart pounds so loudly in my ears. I open the bedroom door—and crash right into him. His eyes widen angrily.
“You little—”
Before he can finish, I fling bleach, aiming for his eyes. He jerks his face away, and it hits his ears. Panic drives me forward, down the corridor.
I turn a corner sharply—and slam into another figure. The man stares at me, shock etched into his handsome face. I shove him with all my might, slipping past him as he stumbles backward, confusion slowing his reactions.
Ahead, a massive door appears. Hope flickers in my chest. I yank the handle open and immediately freeze—guards, their backs turned, blocking my escape. My heart sinks, panic clawing at my throat as I slam the door shut again, breath ragged and panicked.
“Get her,” his furious voice echoes from somewhere close behind.
I bolt down the hallway to my left, bare feet slapping painfully against the cold marble floor. My chest heaves, fear propelling me forward.
Suddenly, my hip collides painfully against a heavy wooden sculpture. I stumble, gasping. A creaking sound fills the air—slow, ominous. I lift my eyes just in time to see the towering wooden figure sway precariously, tipping forward to crush me.
I scream, squeezing my eyes shut and raising my arms to shield my head.
But suddenly, warmth surrounds me—a large body envelops mine, arms encasing me tightly.
The sculpture crashes heavily, wood splintering against the broad shoulders shielding me. The force drives us both to the floor, my body pressed beneath his, our breaths mingling in harsh pants.
My eyes fly open, meeting his storm-gray gaze inches from mine. My heart pounds against his chest, trapped beneath his massive frame, our faces are close. He stares down at me, his jaw tight with fury and pain. My breath hitches painfully.
Around us, the hallway falls quiet, leaving only our breaths between us, my heart beating so loud, I fear he can feel it.
Now, I realize how easily he could hurt me.
And yet I feel safe.
Footsteps come up towards us and I turn to see the man I shoved earlier. His face is red and confused.
“Jesus Christ are you two okay?”